‘Where are you from?’
Where do I begin?
It’s no secret that identity is an intricate and highly nuanced concept, and that tackling it is a pretty herculean feat. But that’s also precisely why I want to tackle it today — to get under the skin of that nuance, to expose the true essence of what it means to be ‘from’ somewhere.
And my identity? That just opens another can of worms. A regular reader of this (tiny) blog would be no stranger to my particularly nomadic lifestyle — a lifestyle built across continents and time zones — that has resulted in an identity which is, naturally, an amalgamation of the cultures and languages that have populated my journey so far. All this makes for an exploration of identity that is even more exciting (or complicated — you decide).
The idea for this piece sprouted from a recent conversation with a close friend of mine, who has always marvelled at how I, his Indian-passport-wielding friend, am really anything but Indian.
And yet, in March 2019, I moved to India. Many reached out to congratulate me on the new job, on the fact that I was moving ‘back’ to India: ‘Oh fantastic, you’ll finally be back home!’ I get it. These people don’t know me overly well, and on paper — logically — it makes perfect sense. I’m an Indian citizen with an Indian name and Indian parents. Of course I was moving back home to India.
Except that this would be the very first time I’d actually be living in the country.
And funnily enough, I’ve never felt as ‘un-Indian’ as I do right now, living in India, inhabiting the very space I supposedly belong in, its culture, customs, and quirky 19th century British idioms staring me right in the face, challenging me to adopt them. So, naturally, my already-confused identity has increased by an order of magnitude as I meander through Mumbai, as much a foreigner here as the next tourist at the Taj.
When meeting someone for the first time, you’ll inevitably be asked where you’re from — a question I am simultaneously familiar with and well-rehearsed in answering. But what I’m still not accustomed to is my fellow Indians asking me the very same question, posing it to — supposedly — one of their own. And it’s not difficult to see why. A lifetime away from the homeland has given me an accent, mannerisms, and ideas of food, film, and fun that are entirely distinct from those of your average Indian citizen.
Whether you’d label it a masterclass in cognitive dissonance or a garden variety identity crisis, this conundrum has resulted in countless discussions with my father, eventually leading us to a workable — albeit simplistic — understanding of my identity.
My ethnicity is Indian, my identity is not.
Let’s unpack this with an example. Generational differences aside, my father and I are culturally worlds apart. My father is Indian — ethnicity, ancestry, identity, the whole nine yards. Being his daughter, I am originally from India, but this is not what shapes my identity.
My father didn’t leave India until he was 30; I didn’t live in India until I was 27. He grew up eating aloo gobi; my British boarding school fed me cauliflower cheese. He craves lassi and jalebi from the streets of Old Delhi; give me a hot Cornish pasty and a cold cider on a rainy beach in Dorset any day. He is immeasurably moved by the poetry of ghazal music; I have a steady stream of Natalia Lafourcade flowing through our speakers. We are father and daughter, but the life he gave me — a truly global life, a life full of adventure — means my identity hasn’t turned out particularly ‘Indian’.
In fact, my identity isn’t particularly rooted in any one nation or culture. While I may have spent over a decade in England, we can’t hastily conclude that I’m from the UK, and case closed. It’s slightly more complex than that. Natalia Lafourcade may not be on the playlists of many of my British friends, and I don’t know many Mexicans who find themselves craving cauliflower cheese (they do have tacos, after all…) I also speak fluent Spanish, while my Hindi would be best described as the order-a-chai-and-get-by type. And — just to throw a spanner in the works — there are fragments of my identity that are Indian. I am known to excitedly break out into (questionable) dance when Bollywood music comes on, and I do genuinely enjoy speaking the little Hindi I know.
So, is our identity based on our citizenship, where we’re originally ‘from’? Does our nationality define us?
I don’t think so. Even if, in the Venn diagram of your life, the circles of ethnicity and identity neatly overlap, there will likely be certain aspects of your ethnicity you may not identify with. Instead, I think identity is the sum total of your experiences — it is carefully, gradually chiselled out of the habits, the highs, the lows, the people loved and lost, the lessons learnt, the skills developed. This identity could have nothing at all to do with where you’re from, and instead have everything to do with what you’ve gone through to get here today.
Perhaps you’ll relate to this piece. Perhaps you’re a fellow third culture kid, or the child of immigrant parents. Or perhaps you’re wobbling through life in a new country, a new city, and you find yourself in identity limbo — one foot firmly planted in your ancestry, the other trying to find its place in what is now ‘home’. Perhaps you’re a little confused too.
But the confusion shouldn’t worry you. The confusion about where you’re from, while important to acknowledge, shouldn’t overshadow where you are right now, and should never tamper with where you’re going. Instead, let your experiences shape your identity. And — most crucially — if there are aspects of your ethnicity that you do identify with, hold on to them. They are an important part of your identity, and are every bit a part of you as the rest of it is.
So, maybe my Indian-but-not-really identity means I can belong anywhere. Or maybe it means I can’t belong anywhere.
Either way, I’ll have an endless collection of stories and memories that are uniquely mine — and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Until next time,
S
Cover image captured in Rajasthan, India.
